“Nothing, Caroline,” I replied, “but a few observations on the trout, his habits, and the method of his capture.”
“Exemplifying the fact,” Mrs. Loring struck in crossly, “that he is a cold-blooded creature.”
Mrs. Loring scored a bye.
X
AN UNDRESS REHEARSAL
Millicent Dixon had called on me unexpectedly, soaked from neck to ankle. I had been watching the vertical downpour from my window—long, heavy slate-pencils of water, that rebounded from the pavement in a mist a foot high,—and listening to the hurrying runnels that sluiced the gutters. It was full, uncompromising rain, and it thrashed steadily from the invisible cullender that had been a sky an hour ago. Millicent stood before me with her hand on the door, half vexed, but laughing out of her sodden garments.
“Now don’t sit there looking at me, Mr. Butterfield,” she exclaimed, as I admired at her plight with eyes half closed; “get me some things.”
I considered weightily.
“I have in the house at present,” I replied, “several morning suits, a Norfolk jacket, evening wear, pink silk——”
She tapped impatiently with her foot, shaking a sliver of little drops from the hem of her gown.
“Or perhaps fishing attire would be——?”